Chapter Text
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By the end of the weekend, Dean Winchester will have: a busted nose, a license to fish in the state of Iowa, an unexpected (and unexpectedly uninhibited) new lover, a certain amount of fame on the internet (which, as it turns out, does have stuff other than naked people), and a brother who’s confused as all hell. None of which is gonna bother him one little bit, except maybe the painful introduction of his nose to a wall of plexiglass.
But right now? Dean’s got Baby’s sleek steering wheel in his hands, her tires hugging the open road beneath them. With his buddy Cas napping in the passenger seat, Dean is suddenly and starkly aware that life is good. Damn good.
The same cannot be said about the quality of the pitted, two-lane highway they’re traveling.
Highway 9 from Sioux Falls to Okoboji is a parade of cars with impatient drivers, trucks hauling grain hoppers or livestock trailers, slow-moving tractors that are a bitch to pass, potholes, and enough roadkill to feed a redneck for a year. It’s not the quickest route, but, according to Jody, it’s the most scenic way to go. Although, 'scenic' might be a generous description. It’s just mile after mile of soybean and cornfields, hog farms, dilapidated outbuildings, cows, dilapidated agricultural machinery, more cows, and acres of land dotted with those creepy-as-fuck giant, white wind turbines, the blades of which remind Dean of Wendigo hands.
There is definitely something supernatural about those stupid wind turbines. Even Cas, as he was dozing off earlier, muttered what sounded like "scientific research necessary… abnormal frequencies" when they passed a particularly large grouping. Dean kinda feels bad for the cows left out there to graze.
But the route is not without its charm. There’s the sign for a turnoff to a pair of little towns named George and Edna, which sounds to Dean like an elderly couple who got divorced but ended up sharing a duplex. And there’s Slade’s Drive-In of Rock Rapids, where Dean orders a butterscotch shake the size of a grain silo. He seriously considers trying something called a Scotty Burger – double beef patties, ham, and cheese – but Jody and the girls warned him to hold out for the lake’s many dining options. Just as he decides what they don't know won’t hurt ‘em, a sheriff’s vehicle cruises by at a slow rate of speed. Dean wouldn’t put it past Jody to put a spy in the area to ensure he doesn’t order half the menu at Slade’s.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean says under his breath. No longer one to ignore signs from the universe, he folds his wallet closed and tucks it into his back jeans pocket. The shake will have to tide him over until they make it to their destination, but he and Cas will be stopping for burgers on the way home.
The sight of the law enforcement vehicle reminds Dean why they’re here in the first place, ‘here’ being the middle-of-midwestern-nowhere. This journey may be Sheriff Jody’s idea, but it started with a novel suggestion from Cas, several days ago in the Men of Letters’ kitchen.
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Dean, self-designated Meat Man of the bunker, is focused on getting his morning’s allotment of bacon from its paper wrapping to the stove. First couple of mugs of joe buzzing in his blood, Dean hums distractedly, but he works with precision, separating each raw slice from its neighbor. You gotta be careful; mangled bacon is harder to arrange in the pan, and he’s got it down to a science that doesn’t allow for error.
It doesn’t allow for sneaky former angels on quiet feet suddenly appearing beside him, either.
“Damn it, Cas.”
Instead of asking Dean what the matter is, face grave with concern, as he might have before, Cas simply yawns and says, “Good morning, Dean,” in an extra dark voice that means he just woke up. Or perhaps not…
When Castiel sidles up next to him at the counter, Dean catches a whiff of the body wash he’s become fond of using, now that he needs to bathe again – officially mortal since Jack brought him back from The Empty. Brought everyone back. Jack’s new Earth is a wonderful place, free of monsters and all the things that used to go bump in the night, but personal hygiene is still frustratingly do-it-yourself.
Freshly showered, and apparently in the mood for human contact, Cas presses even more tightly to Dean’s side. And yeah, it feels good, but it’s also a reminder of the important discussion they haven’t had yet. The one where they address the fancy speech Cas laid on him before getting sucked into The Empty. The one where Dean, in so many words, lets him know the feeling is mutual.
But he’s not going to put the cart before the horse or, in this case, the love confession before the applewood-smoked meat, so Dean clears his throat and pretends his mind hasn’t been moseying in that direction more and more. Anyway, Cas doesn’t seem to expect deep conversation right now, content to be plastered to Dean, overseeing his work.
“What are you doin’ up so early, man?”
Cas replies, “Bacon,” like it’s all the answer necessary. And it really is. Dean grunts his approval and keeps expertly preparing breakfast, in spite of the limited range of motion he has with Castiel crowding him. He decides to fry up a second pan of bacon, now that he’s cooking for two.
The group in the kitchen doubles as Sam and Eileen come tumbling in, laughing and pawing at each other. They’re both in pajamas, sporting suspiciously mussed hair and matching grins.
“Dean!” Sam shouts, like it’s a huge surprise to see him in the kitchen they share. Like they’ve been apart for weeks instead of cooped up together in the bunker with time to kill and no case to help them kill it.
“Hiya, Sammy. Eileen.” He nods to the newcomers, while Cas gives a little wave, apparently too groggy to manage further speech. It’s abominably cute.
When Dean asks Eileen if she wants bacon, she explains that she and Sam were planning to make pancakes.
“Pancakes?” Dean scoffs. “You got my brother eating carbs now? You’re a bona fide miracle worker.” His teasing is good-natured, and Eileen knows it.
“Not a miracle worker, just a good incentivizer,” she says with a wink, and Sam turns four shades of red. “But they’re wheat grass pancakes,” she elaborates, rolling her eyes. “Sugar and dairy-free.”
Sam looks pained. “Hey! When you stayed over last weekend, you said you liked those.”
“I'll tell you what I liked about last weekend…” What follows is emphatic sign language that has Dean averting his eyes and praying it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means.
Soon, Dean has coffee and bacon on the table. He and Cas sit down and dig in, while Sam and Eileen take over the kitchen’s prep area to begin making their green, criminally incorrect pseudo-pancakes.
Cas must catch Dean glaring in Sam’s direction because he says, “Don’t be too hard on him, Dean. Your brother is inordinately sensitive about some things, nutrition being one of them.”
“Nah. He’s just hangry ‘cuz he doesn’t have enough meat in his diet.” Dean enunciates the word ‘meat’ loudly enough to draw Sam’s attention, but when he makes a show of stuffing at least three strips of bacon in his mouth at once, Sam shudders and turns away. Yes, Dean thinks. Score: Bacon, 1. Douchebag herbivore, 0.
As he watches Eileen place a conciliatory hand on Sam’s arm, however, Dean feels a jolt of weirdly intense envy.
What would it be like, having the ability – the freedom – to comfort a partner with such a fleeting touch? Hell, what would it be like having a partner in the first place? Dean hardly remembers the definition of companionship, let alone romance, yet his baby brother seems to have figured it out and is making it work. No thanks to Dean.
His faceful of bacon suddenly seems like the short end of the stick. Choking down the food, he reaches blindly for his coffee mug and knocks it a few inches forwards, sloshing lukewarm brew onto his plate and the table. A small amount runs off the edge, onto Dean’s lap. It doesn’t hurt, but he jumps in his seat with surprise.
“Dean,” Cas asks, voice quiet yet fervent, “are you alright? Let me find you a towel.”
“No worries. I’m fine.” He doesn’t want anyone making a fuss over him, least of all the man who’s already spent way too much energy and time on Dean, shed blood and tears, sacrificed his status in Heaven – even his life – on his behalf. More than friggin’ once.
So, when Castiel stands to go for a towel, Dean grabs onto his wrist to stop him. At first, his hold is too tight, bringing the threat of a grimace to Cas’s face. But Dean quickly relaxes his fingers, sliding them down to encircle his sturdy hand, instead. What began as a show of force becomes a tentative touch – no longer a command to stay, but a request.
A request which Cas somehow understands and heeds. Though he could easily break free of Dean’s grip, he doesn’t. He stills completely, as if allowing Dean time to process his own thoughts. And if Dean could keep a thought in his damn head, with all the sparks zipping from his fingertips up his arm, he’d appreciate the gesture. But with Cas on his feet, their joined hands are close to eye-level for Dean, and he’s mesmerized by the sight.
They're just hands, ya know? Everybody's got 'em, but there's something arresting about the way Cas's hand looks underneath Dean's. It's relaxed and open, this hand that has been busy in Dean's service since the moment it first touched his soul in Hell. The same hand, capable-looking yet elegant, that has restored life and taken it in near equal measure. Maybe Dean should be fearful of its concealed power, but…
Well, let's just say that if he doesn't get his mitts wrapped around Baby's steering wheel soon, he's liable to stay in the kitchen holding Cas's hand for the next week. So Dean drops it, scrubs a clammy palm across his forehead and groans.
“Dean?”
“Sorry, man. It’s just… I don’t know. Too crowded in here. It’s making my damn skin crawl.”
A hand – the hand – falls to Dean’s shoulder and squeezes. “In the kitchen? I’m happy to take my meal to the library, if you’d prefer it, Dean.”
“What? No!” Dean’s eyes snap up and meet Cas’s, currently broadcasting puzzled concern. “You’re not the problem. It's Lady and the Tramp over there. I don’t know if there’s room enough in the entire bunker for all of us plus their metaphorical spaghetti-sharing, falling-in-love feelings and crap.”
Dean’s being a hypocrite, and he knows it. Cas probably does, too.
“So let’s give them and their ‘feelings’ a little space.” Castiel smiles, releasing Dean’s shoulder after a final squeeze in order to form his infamous air quotes.
But Dean refuses to be charmed. “Dude, I said I don’t wanna go into the library.”
Warily, Cas lowers himself back into his seat. “What do you want?”
“To finish eating this,” Dean says, taking up a piece of bacon and brandishing it like a weapon. He realizes he’s being a dick, but he’s on edge – close to losing control of his emotions.
Castiel waits. And waits. Keeps waiting. Sighs. “Then why are you not eating it?”
“It’s cold.”
If looks could kill… Dean would be maimed, at least. He hasn’t felt this much like a bratty toddler since he was denied that Turducken Slammer, and he deserves whatever Cas decides to dish out.
“Give me the plate, Dean.”
Dean can’t help but be suspicious of Castiel’s motives. “Why, exactly?”
“I’m going to warm it in the microwave.”
“Don’t you freaking dare.” Dean’s body doesn’t ask him for permission before hunching over the plate of bacon to form a living shield. “Listen, the Meat Man doesn’t let good bacon be subjected to microwaves, okay? It’s the stovetop or nothing.”
A stony silence from Castiel leads Dean to believe that it’s going to be the latter.
“Screw this. I’m not even hungry anymore.”
Cas traces Dean’s eyeline to where Sam and Eileen are giggling over green pancake batter, and Dean thinks Cas might understand that this isn’t about bacon.
“We really should go,” Cas tells him.
“Yes, fine! Give them their space, got it.”
This time, it’s Cas who puts a hand out to stop him. “In the car.”
Dean blinks. “Pardon?”
“We should go. Let them have the bunker for a while.”
“And where does that leave us, huh?”
Cas squints, and it seems he’s selecting his words carefully. “It’s been several weeks of… inactivity. Think of all the other hunters that are out of work, too, so to speak. They may also be struggling to adapt.”
Leaning back, arms crossed, Dean is willing to listen and curious about what Cas is getting at.
“Surely this would be a good opportunity to visit some of our friends.”
Dean cocks his head. “Like… the Bored Hunters’ Reunion Tour?”
“Yes. Also, I’ve been wanting to see Claire again. It’s been quite some time.”
That kinda seals the deal for Dean. He won’t deny Cas time with his – their – found family, not to mention the lure of Jody’s home cooking. With a parting look at his sad, soggy bacon, Dean nods and says, “Yep. Let’s roll.”
So that’s how the two of them end up driving five hours just to eat their next meal in Sioux Falls.
Totally worth it.
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When they pull into the driveway of Jody’s modest ranch-style home, Dean sees Claire at the living room window for a moment before she’s out the front door to greet them.
“Hey, geezers, took you long enough to get here,” she says fondly, pulling Castiel into a hug that’s far less awkward than the last time she saw him. Claire is all smiles, practically glowing. When Dean catches sight of Kaia leaning against the front door frame, a soft expression on her face as she watches Claire and Cas, he thinks he understands the change in Claire’s once-prickly demeanor.
Although, that change could also be due to the fact that Jack wiped out all the monsters (except for the human variety), and now Claire has the chance to live a normal, non-hunting life. Hell, they all do. The relief of the new order of things is palpable among the whole group as they sit at the dinner table that night, Jody passing a heaping dish of garlic mashed potatoes over to Cas.
There’s almost an electricity in the air, an excitement Dean can’t really name. How many other times in his life has Dean sat at Jody’s dinner table on the way to, or from, working a case? How often did their conversations revolve around the job? This time, it’s different. It feels like a family reunion. (But not the crappy kind where someone unwittingly flirts with their second cousin, and a few people get food poisoning from the macaroni salad, and basically everyone vows: “Let’s do this again a year from never.”)
This family dinner feels warm and celebratory. Alex isn’t here, as she’s taken on a gig as a traveling nurse and is currently enjoying the San Diego sun. Dean thinks Alex might have wanted to get the heck out of Dodge, not just for the travel opportunity, but because Claire and Kaia are even worse than Sam and Eileen with the goo-goo eyes.
Over dessert (Dutch apple pie!), Dean asks the girls, “Alright, so. Now that Jack’s vanquished all the Big Bads, what’s next for the two of you?”
Claire gives a little snort. “We haven’t planned anything beyond having an epic Hot Girl Summer.”
Dean, who is only partially up on the young-people lingo, is relieved when Cas is the one to ask, “What is a ‘Hot Girl Summer’?”
Claire and Kaia share a flirtatious look before Kaia explains, “It’s like a ‘live your best life’ kind of thing, y’know? Having fun and feeling confident and enjoying the hell out of summer by doing all the things you like. And by looking damn fine doing them.”
Jody adds, “Or in my case, ‘Hot Girl Summer’ means trips to the lake on which I am occasionally invited along, mostly to chauffeur. And where Claire and Kaia take a thousand couple-selfies and post them on Instagram with a bunch of heart-eyes emojis.”
“Which lake?” Dean asks.
Jody gives him a blank look. “The lake. West Lake Okoboji, in Iowa? About 80 miles east of here?”
Dean shrugs. “Never been there.”
Now it’s Claire who’s incredulous. “Dude. For all the bazillion miles you’ve driven, how have you never been to Okoboji? It’s the coolest place anywhere near here. It’s like… I dunno, man. A whole different world.”
“A magical one,” Kaia tacks on.
Dean shoots her a suspicious look. “Like, Disney World magical?”
Claire bursts out laughing. “Uh, no. Don’t worry, it’s nothing like that. It’s awesome.”
Phone in hand, Castiel is typing, presumably googling Okoboji facts, when Jody reaches over and gently covers the screen. He looks up, startled.
“Trust me,” Jody says, “for your first visit to the lake, you'll definitely want to experience it organically. It’s how I first experienced it as a kid, way back in the stone ages before the internet.”
Kaia nods. “They wouldn’t let me google it the first time I went, either. Claire actually confiscated my phone on the drive there. Which… I mean, harsh, but it was a good call, in the end.”
Cas looks at Dean, his mouth tipping up into a shy smile, and says, “I wouldn’t mind experiencing the ‘magic’ of a ‘Hot Girl Summer’ at the lake,” with air quotes and everything. Dean is so damn enamored of this dork, he can hardly stand it. Also, Dean is pretty sure he’s the one making goo-goo eyes now.
He clears his throat, forces himself to look somewhere other than Cas’s earnest gaze, and says, “Yeah, we could do that. I mean. It sounds like it’s worth checking out. We could head that direction in the morning.”
“This time tomorrow, you’ll be thanking us,” Jody assures them.
Dean thinks that’s an awful lot of pressure to put on any place in Iowa, but he’s (occasionally) been wrong and is willing to give it a go. Spending time with his best friend, whether or not Okoboji is all it’s cracked up to be, is more than worth a trip.
That night, Dean and Cas rock-paper-scissors a "best two out of three" for who gets the couch, and Cas wins, of course, because Dean has shit luck with that game. But the joke’s on Cas, because the air mattress from Jody’s garage might actually be the more comfortable option, compared to the thin-cushioned, wooden-armed plaid couch. They settle in and turn out the lights, and Dean manages to stop making the air mattress squeak long enough for Cas to fall asleep.
But Dean is wide awake. A streetlight outside the living room picture window illuminates Cas, who is sleeping on his side, facing Dean, looking at once more angelic and more vulnerably human than he ever has.
Dean’s mind flashes back to Castiel on a different plaid couch, the one in Ramiel’s barn, a wound from Michael’s lance slowly killing the angel. And Cas’s words that horrible night, a goodbye that rocked Dean to his core: Knowing you… it’s been the best part of my life. And the things that we’ve shared together, they have changed me.
And then the profession of love that followed, Cas unable to make eye contact the first time he said it. Dean knows now that Castiel’s first I love you that night was meant just for him. He probably knew it then, too, on some level. But it’s taken him years, and another world-changing, heartfelt declaration from Cas, for Dean to realize that he might actually deserve a happy ending.
You fought for this whole world for love. That is who you are. You're the most caring man on Earth. You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.
And now, with Jack at the helm of the universe, and no further supernatural threats to humankind, Dean might actually have the chance to have that happy ending, if he can figure out how to be brave enough to reach out and take it.
Over and over in his mind, rolling like a film reel, is the memory of Cas’s last words to him before The Empty came and stole everything from Dean:
You know, ever since we met and ever since I pulled you out of Hell, knowing you has changed me. Because you cared, I cared. I cared about the whole world because of you. You changed me, Dean.
But how irrevocably has Dean been changed because of Cas? It’s more than Dean could ever put into words. More than he knows how to process. More than he knows what to do with. He fights the impulse to join Cas on Jody’s couch and prove to him that he can have Dean. That he’s had Dean for ages. Maybe forever.
But Dean thinks there’s got to be a right way to do this, to let Cas know his feelings are reciprocated, and that probably doesn't include an amorous clamber atop his snoozing friend in a house owned by another snoozing friend. But he can show Cas a good time at the lake tomorrow. He can… woo him, perhaps. Which would kind of make tomorrow, like, a date. Is tomorrow a date?
Just pondering the question is causing Dean to nervous-sweat, making the air mattress even squeakier, fuck his entire life. There’s no way he’s going to be able to fall asleep on this thing. The floor, at least, would be a quiet surface, so he rolls off the side of the air mattress as gracefully as possible (which is to say, not very), forgetting about the coffee table, which he smacks into with a thunk.
He ends up sprawled on the floor on his back, wedged between the air mattress and coffee table, staring up at the ceiling. Moving one arm just far enough to snag the blanket off the air mattress, he flings it across himself haphazardly, and, eventually, falls asleep.
The next morning, he expects his body to be all cricked up in protest, but he wakes to the smell and sound of coffee brewing and is feeling pretty damn good, all things considered. He and Cas didn’t exactly pack for a day at the lake (a date at the lake?) when they left the bunker, but Dean figures they can peel off a couple layers if the weather gets super hot. He knows the sun brings out his freckles, which he's a little self-conscious about, but he doesn’t care enough to ask Jody if he can borrow sunscreen. And Cas? Well. Cas tans beautifully.
After a light breakfast and Jody’s admonition to continue to eat light along the way – “The lakeside dining options are well worth the wait” – they head east out of Sioux Falls, Zeppelin providing the perfect road trip soundtrack.
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